Beating the Bugs

BEATING THE BUGS.    

“Ha! Got you!” Stan Wozniack decreed with unmitigated glee. He had just eradicated the last Tyrannosaurus on the screen, in the final round of his favourite online game Defeat the Dinosaurs. “Wozniack one, dinosaurs nil. Sixty-thousand points to me.” His social media gaming companion Todd conceded defeat. “Congratulations, buddy. You’re the champion,” he typed.

“Aww, thanks,” Stan replied. “Might be your turn next time.”

He chuckled loudly, sounding like an old cartoon dog he had watched years ago. As he prepared to enter the score and claim victory, an error message appeared on the screen: Connection lost.

“Damn!” he muttered, realising he would probably lose the points now. It would involve playing the game again once the outage was restored.

Stan was staid and predictable, just like his accountancy job. Not given to fancy thoughts or over-imagination. Middle-aged, overweight and balding, Stan had followed the same pattern for the last several years: finish work, have a couple of beers with the boys, go home to a lukewarm dinner and crash in front of the television with another couple of beers. In bed by ten, up at seven. He was pleased to befriend Todd, who was several years younger but shared Stan’s zeal.

His daily interaction with Todd and the online game broke up the tedious job hours, gave him a focus and a strange sense of purpose.

There was nothing remarkable or different about today. Reports had been printed and copies collated. Nothing different, that was, until now.

He tried to log back into his social media account with no success. The same message appeared: Connection lost.

Stan sighed and began the task of hand-editing his printed report, looking for typos. Without warning, the computer screen began to flash and beep.

Wildly.

 Something wasn’t right. The screen changed from black to green to purple. A slight movement inside the lower right-hand corner caught his attention, but it wasn’t the screen saver.

He blinked again. Put down the pencil and cleaned his glasses. Maybe he’d had too many beers last night. Vera was always nagging him to cut back. But what was he seeing? He leaned forward and squinted. A live miniature dinosaur appeared inside his desktop screen, wandering backwards and forwards. Yep, he decided, the alcohol must be addling his brain. Soon, a second one appeared. He blinked again, peering at a Brachiosaurus. As he looked, a bevy of ancient creatures began to materialise onscreen.

What on earth?

Dinosaurs.

Stan scratched his head. The game was finished. Over. Final. Connection lost.

He pondered a news report from the previous night. A local drought had widened its reach, and many areas had developed large sink holes in the dry ground. On one property, a local farmer had discovered several enormous skeleton parts: jawbones, vertebrae, thigh bones and tail bones.

The Dinosaur Museum had dispatched a bevy of experts to carefully extricate the bones and transport them back to a lab for scientific study. It was mooted that the ancient giant wombat Diprotodon was possibly amongst them. Stan had been fascinated by the coverage and wondered whether it was playing on his sub-conscience. Or was it maybe too much screen time?

 Abruptly, Stan’s train of thought dissolved.

 “Ouch!” he cried, feeling a sharp jab on the back of his left hand. A small tear in the flesh started to bleed.

What the…?

A miniature T-Rex stood to the side of his hand, lips bared, revealing a row of sharp teeth. Stan grabbed a tissue and swabbed his hand, pressing the tissue into position firmly to stem the bleeding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something else move across the desk. He glanced at the screen. The Brachiosaurus was missing.

On the other side of the large dividing partition between the workspaces sat Stan’s business partner Brian. “Are you there, mate?” Stan called. No answer.  He pushed his chair back and wandered around to the other side. Brian was momentarily absent until he returned from the filing cabinet with a load of folders. “Have you got a minute?” Stan enquired. “Just want you to have a look at my desktop. It’s gone ballistic. I think I might have bugs.”

“Sure. I know a thing or two about how to get rid of bugs.” Brian sauntered casually around the desk, and sat in Stan’s seat. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Can’t you see? They’re wandering around inside the screen.”

Brian was puzzled. “I thought you meant computer bugs. You know, viruses. If you’re talking about insects, I don’t see anything there.” Stan leaned across Brian’s shoulder for a closer look. The screen had returned to its normal dark background. “That’s odd. I thought I saw something there a few minutes ago. Sorry mate, never mind. There might have been something on my glasses.”

It was Stan’s turn to be puzzled. The tiny desk visitor had disappeared, along with the dino herd inside the screen.

 “Are you alright?” Brian asked, noticing the bite on Stan’s hand.  

    “Yeah, mate. There’s an oversized mosquito around. I’ll be okay, it’s just a bit of blood.”

Brian returned to his desk. Stan’s face was flushed, as reptiles emerged from beneath his computer. Stegosaurus, Muttaburrasaurus, Velociraptor, and Triceratops lumbered across the desk. He blinked again as the ancient goanna Megalania, a distant relative of the Komodo Dragon, appeared. He remembered reading that one of those guys could easily eat a human. Oh boy, I definitely have to cut the beer, I’m losing my mind. What to do? Don’t want everyone thinking I’m crazy. Sweat poured down his forehead, and he had to think quickly. There was no time to grab the insect spray. Seizing the plain laminated desk protector, he madly swatted the tiny intruders like flies. Bang, bang, bang! Slamming the protector down, he managed to trap the lot of them underneath. He held it down for a few moments then turned it over.

Stan looked down at his protector. It now carried a 3D pattern of miniature dinosaurs.

Ha, ha, got you! He let out a maniacal cartoon-dog laugh again, relieved. He glanced at the computer screen, which began to waver. He pressed the return key on the keyboard. The screen flashed the message: Connection lost.

He unexpectedly slumped forward, forehead connecting with the edge of the keyboard.

Stan awoke to a firm hand shaking his shoulder, followed by Brian’s concerned voice. As he slowly resumed his upright position, Stan’s colleague held out a glass. “Mate, you don’t look good. Do you need some water?”

Stan gradually opened his eyes, focussing on Brian’s’ face. “What happened?”

“You passed out for a few minutes. It could be high blood pressure. You’d probably better get it checked. Your face is pretty red.” Stan nodded and sipped the water. His face cooled, and his pulse began to slow.

“By the way, mate,” Brian continued. “Where’d you get the new desk protector? My boys would love one like that.”

Stan released a wry smile. “Be my guest. Give it to your boys with my regards.”

“Gee, thanks mate. Are you certain you want to part with it?”

Stand nodded in reply. “Yep. You’re welcome to it. Keep the boys happy. I’ll get another.”

As Stan prepared to finish editing his report, he twirled the pencil in his fingers and then stopped. He was transfixed by the appearance of a tiny rubber-looking creature on the pencil end. It was amusing. A miniscule dinosaur look-alike, complete with sharp teeth.

That’s funny, I don’t remember having a pencil topper on here before.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Brian queried from the other side. “I can’t wait to show the boys this protector. Sure you don’t want it?”

Stan was ominously silent. The pencil topper drew back its lips in a terrifying grin. With lightning reflexes, Stan plunged the pencil end into the machine waiting on his desk. There was a sickening crunch as tiny pieces flew into the air. Stan breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his brow. Suddenly the computer screen flashed a message: Connection restored.

“Yeah, mate, fine.” Stan replied. “Just needed to sharpen my pencil.”

Stan grinned to himself. He shut down the flashing desktop and took his jacket off the back of his chair. The thought of a cold beer after work held promise. Today he’d had a victory.

Wozniack one, dinosaurs nil.